Friday, 2 January 2009

The Waves' Grief

The seagulls cry:
And it is
car alarms and contempt.

The fishes cry:
and the water is
always swallowing it, as they
are always swallowing the water.

The waves cry and dash
their foreheads on the ground--
theirs the most human grief.

The continual motion of it,
that clumsy onwards stagger
the constant tripping over
the hem of their own dresses,

that being all one
blue-black bruise;
hair turned white in dismay.
Grief's indignity and hiss.

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